Elaine May’s The Way of All Fish (not "Flesh") brings together the soignée, sophisticated, caustic-tongued Ms. Asquith (Joy Virata) and her secretary Miss Riverton (Liesl Batucan) whose cutting impertinence makes the spectator wonder why Ms. Asquith tolerates her at all.
Plans for a dinner in a plush restaurant go awry, and a drinking bout ensues instead at Ms. Asquith’s office, with each woman drinking like a fish. The now inebriated Ms. Riverton, throwing discretion to the winds, reveals the sinister (read murderous) intentions she has been nurturing toward celebrities. (Ms. Asquith doubtless qualifies as one.) The obsessive desire, long suppressed, must soon be turned into action!
The confession brings on a chilling effect of Ms. Asquith, and though the crisp, taut dialogue sustains the quietly ominous tension, it also draws nervous laughter from the audience.
The battle of wills between executive and secretary turns into a crucial physical contest. Here we shall let the reader guess who finally gains the upper hand. Virata and Batucan delineate their contrasting characters in such compelling fashion, the "denouement" comes as a genuine relief to everyone.
A suspension of disbelief takes place in Alan Arkin’s Virtual Reality while foreman De Recha (Miguel Faustmann) awaits a mysterious shipment in a dark, eerie warehouse. Delivery man Lefty (Joel Trinidad) announces himself, and with De Recha gravely doubting Lefty’s identity and motives, an explosive situation brews when belligerence and animosity keep growing between the two men.
On De Recha’s insistence, the imaginary delivery is acted out. Through mime, the surreal becomes real. Indeed, the viewer in his mind’s eye, sees Lefty unpacking the items (including firearms) and De Recha itemizing them. And as sound effects are cleverly synchronized with his movements, the scene turns even more tangibly, more palpably real. The threatening explosion finally takes place – yet differently from what is expected – to hearty laughter.
Faustmann and Trinidad (Lorenz Martirez alternates) turn Arkin’s Virtual Reality into totally credible actuality through tight gripping interplay.
Enter in this order a Jewish dentist Dr. Kesselman (M. Faustmann) who makes outrageous advances to his outrageously flirtatious dental assistant Sue (L. Batucan), the dentist’s repressed son Harry (J. Trinidad), and a paranoid patient Wanda (J. Virata). Elaine May’s In and Out of the Light nearly borders on slapstick which the Oxford dictionary defines as "boisterious low comedy of the roughest kind". May’s humor, though blatantly obvious and unsubtle, is of course on a higher plane; the action, less riotous. However, the characters are nearly reduced to caricatures. We have Wanda’s hysterics as she tosses on the dentist’s chair, Sue’s exaggeratedly seductive posturings, Dr. Kesselman’s near-fatal heart attack as he lies sprawled on the floor.
Further, though in excruciating pain, Wanda remembers to keep tab of the proceedings on her recorder, and with incredible presence of mind, blurts out Harry’s long-kept secret to his father.
That opening night, the broad farce drew more guffaws than the two subtle, vastly superior black comedies.
It is imperative to mention the striking versatility of the cast – of the brilliant Faustman, the stalwart Virata, the relative newcomers Batucan and Trinidad – of director Baby Barredo who skillfully sustains the momentum from start to finish, and of Elaine May who offers two widely divergent theater pieces. Faustmann’s set designs establish the ambiance and mood demanded by each play.